


Sherlollipops - On Top Of The World

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [162]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sararossi on tumblr prompted: no. 21 things you said when we were on top of the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - On Top Of The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaraRossi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraRossi/gifts).



> Sooo…I might have taken a few liberties with this prompt...okay, more than a few. *shrugs* Rated T for some stuff at the end. Enjoy!

 “I c-can’t b-believe I l-let you t-talk me into c-coming here!”

“Honestly, Molly, it’s not that bad!”

“IT’S B-BLOODY F-FREEZING!”

“Technically, it’s well below freezing, closer to negative twent–” Sherlock was silenced by the simple expedient of Molly slapping her gloved hand over his mouth.

“Listen, you,” she hissed, her voice clear despite the howling of the wind, “I don’t bloody _care_ exactly how cold it is, got that?” He managed a nod, eyes wide behind the protective goggles he wore. “You got us stranded out here with a broken-down snowmobile in the middle of the Arctic bloody Circle…now FIND US A WAY TO NOT FREEZE TO DEATH, YOU SODDING GIT!!”

He noted that with her rising ire she’d lost the tendency for her teeth to chatter, but wisely decided against further provoking her simply to try and keep her internal temperature up. “There’s a ranger station of some kind about four kilometers north of here,” he said, pulling the information from his mind palace in record time. “We’ll have to leg it but I’m confident we can make it before either of us succumbs to frostbite.”

“We’d damn well better,” Molly grumbled as Sherlock hefted the knapsack they’d brought along for the expedition onto his back. So much for testing the suspect’s claim that he’d crossed this part of the tundra in six hours by snowmobile; clearly he or an associate had sabotaged the engine. It could have been chalked up to simple mechanical failure if it wasn’t for the fact that the satellite phone they’d been given had expired at roughly the same moment as their transportation.

He did his best to ignore Molly’s unhappy mutterings, especially since he’d been the one to convince her to accompany him on this case when John was unavailable. He’d just have to make sure she never found out that John’s availability, or lack thereof, had been entirely of Sherlock’s making.

The truth was - not that he was ready to admit it, to her or anyone else - he quite enjoyed spending time with Molly outside the clinical environs of St. Barts. When she’d been seated behind him on the snowmobile, her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek against his back, he’d felt happier than he had in a long time.

Happy enough to have been plotting ways to get her on a motorbike for a long, possibly cross-country trip while they were in Canada. Perhaps he might even have been able to finagle a few ‘oh dear we only have one bed, guess you’ll have to share’ moments when they stopped for the night on said trip...

Of course, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. Even though their destination would likely be unmanned, there would be plenty of bunks, and a generator, possibly a fireplace. No need for them to huddle together under the blankets in order to warm up. And of course, the best way to warm up after near-hypothermia was naked flesh to naked flesh. Much more efficient. And if his naked flesh happened to react in a predictably male way to her naked flesh...well then, it would simply be a matter of nature taking its course, wouldn’t it?

He was rudely interrupted out of his pleasant musings by the feeling of Molly’s gloved hand pounding on his back. “What?” he snapped, without meaning to.

It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw her rolling her eyes behind her frost-bedecked goggles. “Don’t disappear into your mind palace in the middle of a cross-country trek in the snow,” she snapped right back, then nodded toward the horizon. “Is that it? That dark thing up there?”

He followed the direction of her pointing hand, calculated the distance they’d traveled so far, and gave a confident nod. “Yes. Come on, Molly, not much longer now!” Without thinking he grabbed her hand and tugged her along; she made no protest that he could hear, although he supposed the rumbling sounds coming from beneath her scarf might be construed as such. He, however, chose to interpret them as simple noises of exertion as they picked up their pace.

Less than a half-hour later they were there. The doors were locked, the station currently unmanned, but it was only a matter of minutes before Sherlock had it open and was ushering Molly inside.

Although he briefly considered telling her the generator wasn’t working, he decided against potential hypothermia, and quickly had the heat and electricity working. He still built a roaring fire in the oversized stone fireplace the main room boasted, in front of which he insisted Molly sit after peeling herself out of her frozen, snow-covered parka and other cold-weather gear. Once he’d assured himself that there were no working phones, no computers or wifi connection and no other humans in the vicinity, he too stripped off his outer gear and joined Molly in her glum contemplation of the dancing flames.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. This really hadn’t come out the way he’d planned. Even though they now had shelter and warmth, there was no food, no running water, and no way to call for help.

“Nah, s’all right,” she replied with a shrug. She’d dug up some musty-smelling wool blankets while he’d been scouting the perimeter, and offered him a corner of the one she’d draped over herself. He hesitated for only an instant before moving to her end of the low sofa and settling himself next to her.

Unexpectedly Molly giggled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at her. “Sorry!” she warbled. “It just occurred to me...at least we’re going out while we’re on top of the world, right? Cause we’re at the Arctic Circle?”

Sherlock stared at her for a second, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed. Molly’s giggles turned into chuckles and then belly laughs just as deep as his. They ended up sprawled in one another’s arms, with Molly half-sitting on his lap; every time they looked at each other they’d burst into another fit of laughter that took more than a few minutes to run its course.

“Thought you didn’t like my jokes,” Molly said with a final chuckle as she rested her head on his chest.

“Mm, never said I didn’t like them, just said they weren’t your area,” he corrected her.

Molly raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head back to look up at him. “The difference being...?”

“Your humor isn’t for just anyone. Not everyone can get it the way I...uh, certain people can,” he hastily corrected himself.

As she held his gaze, her eyebrow slowly lowering to join its fellow in a disconcerted slant, he became aware of the warmth of her body against his, the way her slender form molded so comfortably against his taller, much more angular, body. Her eyes were very large and very brown against the paleness of her face, and her lips were half-parted in surprise - and looked very, very kissable.

He didn’t realize he intended to do anything with that realization until suddenly he found his arms around her, pulling her closer as he turned them so they were on their sides. Then his lips were on hers, clinging desperately, and her fingers were tangled in his curls and she was returning the kiss just as desperately, her tongue sliding against his, the heat from the fire suddenly nothing compared to the heat they were generating...

“Found them!” The sound of that loud, obnoxiously cheerful voice brought the two of them scrambling apart, sitting up and staring over the back of the sofa in disbelief.

“John?” There was absolutely, positively no way John Watson could be standing there, grinning at them like a complete idiot. It was impossible; the man had been in England, how had he... “Mycroft,” Sherlock spat out in disgust as he connected the dots.

“Yup,” John replied, popping the p in an utterly ridiculous manner. Who did things like that? “He was concerned about how long the case was taking, especially when you told him it was just a three, a four at most...”

Molly, who had been gaping at John, transferred her gaze to Sherlock, shutting her mouth and narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh... “You told me it was a ten, very possibly an eleven!” she exclaimed. “You said you had to have my help, that John couldn’t come because of the baby...”

“Well, in his defense I probably would have said no for exactly that reason - _if_ he’d ever asked me,” John interrupted, still unbelievably, hideously cheerful about the whole thing. “Mary sends her love, by the way, and I’ve loads of pictures of Isabelle to show you on the ride back.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got a nice comfy Terra Bus waiting for us outside, surprised you didn’t hear us drive up.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered. “Then again, I suppose you were a bit too busy to notice anything outside the room.”

“Yes, John, you’ve very cleverly found us, do tell me you at least found time to apprehend the suspect first? The one who sabotaged our snowmobile?” Sherlock snapped as he scrambled to his feet, rather awkwardly offering Molly his hand as he did so. She ignored it and stood up on her own, rearranging her clothes - had her jumper and blouse ridden up on her due to their laughing fit or because he’d put his hands on her, and why couldn’t he remember? - and stomping past him and toward their still-damp outerwear.

“Got the Mounties on it, Mycroft figured it out from the way you high-tailed it out of the resort earlier,” John replied. God, he was still grinning like the proverbial cat that had got the cream. Ugh. “ Found you because of the tracking device inside your boots, yours and Molly’s - and he called me in before you left, thank you for asking, the trip was amazingly comfortable in the private jet he provided...”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Sherlock snapped as he started bundling himself in his own outerwear, trying very hard not to cast a worried look at Molly. Who wore a very stormy expression indeed. Had he finally done it, overstepped to the point where she would wash her hands of him? He had to prevent that at all costs, even if it meant - horror of horrors - telling her The Truth.

“Molly, I did lie about the case, but it was for a good reason,” he said as she shoved her feet into her boots.

She gave him a very skeptical look. “Oh really? And what good reason could you possibly have for dragging me halfway round the world for a case your brother apparently solved in _five minutes?_ From _England_? And why,” she continued, stomping over to stand in front of him, “did you lie to me about John not being able to come?”

“Because I didn’t want an opportunity to get John alone so I could kiss him!” Sherlock half-shouted back. He snapped his mouth shut, mortified at how out-of-control that had sounded, and stepped back. He didn’t get much farther than that single step, as Molly immediately grabbed him by the front of his fleece jumper, yanked him down so his head was close enough for her to reach, and kissed him. Hard. An angry kiss, but God it felt so good he didn’t even mind the bit of blood he tasted as she slammed her lips against his.

He could feel John goggling at them but ignored the other man in favor of concentrating on Molly. “So,” he said when she finally pulled her face away from his, “does this mean you don’t hate the idea?”

“Next time, just tell me,” she ordered. “Got it?”

He nodded rapidly. “Yes, of course, absolutely.”

John cleared his throat loudly. “OK, then, I’ll leave you two to put out the fire - the one in the fireplace that is,” he added with a smirk. “Meet you in the bus in...hmm, I guess we can give you about fifteen minutes or so. Tops.”

“Make it twenty,” Sherlock called after him, grinning widely as he watched his best friend, sniggering like a complete fool, exit the building. “Well, Molly,” he said as soon as they were alone again, “shall we take care of that fire?”

“All I can say is, twenty minutes better build a blaze big enough to make up for six bloody years of a slow burn!”

Luckily for Sherlock, Molly was more than satisfied with the way he quenched the flames during the allotted time.

(Oh, and they remembered to douse the fire in the fireplace as well.)


End file.
